Friends Close, Enemies Closer
by Kedavra
Summary: After the events of HBP, Voldemort orders Draco to disguise himself with the Polyjuice Potion and infiltrate the OotP. In his new identity, Draco will struggle with his torn loyalties and his feelings for a certain bushyhaired witch. DHr
1. Plan and Unplanned

Author's note: Thanks to my lovely beta Annie for her encouragement and critiques. This is my first Dramione fic, and I hope it turns out all right.

**Friends Close, Enemies Closer**

_Chapter 1: Plan and Unplanned_

"You have done well," hissed the voice from the shadows.

Draco knew that the voice had come from a figure perched atop an elaborate throne, but he could not see it. His master was entirely enshrouded by darkness, so when Draco opened his mouth to speak, he spoke to nothingness.

"Th-thank you, my Lord." His voice cracked with nervousness. It could not have been more evident that he had been expecting punishment, fearing the worst.

The Dark Lord picked up on this easily. He gave a short burst of mirthless, high-pitched laughter.

"Why so nervous, little Malfoy?" the Dark Lord asked. If Draco stretched his imagination very hard, he could almost imagine a tone of amusement in his master's voice.

"I was weak, my lord," Draco said subserviently. "I… surely the others have already told you of my hesitation."

"Yes," the Dark Lord said, all traces of amusement and satisfaction leaving his voice. "You have indeed yet to prove your allegiance to me."

Draco bowed his head, wondering if he should offer penance for his actions.

"But your ingenuity with the Vanishing Cabinets certainly had the desired effect," the Dark Lord continued. "Dumbledore would not be dead if not for you."

Draco looked up hopefully.

"You are young, and in time, you will get over your sympathetic tendencies on your own." A smirked crossed the Dark Lord's face. "And if not… well then we will have to teach you the hard way."

Draco imagined his master fingering his phoenix-feather wand lovingly, lingering on memories of performing the Cruciatus Curse. Draco shuddered. He had yet to subjected to the Dark Lord's favourite form of punishment, and he hoped to avoid it for as long as possible.

"I will not hesitate again, my lord," Draco said. He had spent the past few weeks carefully blocking the memories of the events on the tower, trying to ignore his own weakness, forget his indecision. He gritted his teeth determinedly.

"Oh I have no doubts about that, Draco," the Dark Lord hissed firmly, with a hint of a threat. "But you were very effective at infiltrating Hogwarts, very effective indeed, and so I believe I may have use for your skills."

He paused dramatically. "Snape has recently informed me that the Order of the Phoenix has vacated their old headquarters. No doubt the fools have finally come to their senses and realised that he is not loyal to them, but this is a serious blow against my knowledge of their movements.

"I have lost my most useful spy. Dumbledore's death is, of course, a price that I am most willing to pay, but there is now a gap in my intelligence. I have no idea where the Order's headquarters are, who their newest members are or what meddlesome plots they are planning against me.

"I do know from Snape's information that the Order is desperate to recruit new members, preferably wizards fresh out of school. Young, impressionable wizards are no doubt the most easily swayed by their filthy Muggle-loving tendencies.

"You then, Draco, would be most ideal to infiltrate their organisation. You are the youngest of my servants."

Finally, the Dark Lord paused, and waited for Draco to offer a response. Despite his fear at what his master might say if he protested, Draco could not stop himself from blurting out.

"I live to serve, my lord, but the Order, they know that I orchestrated the invasion of Hogwarts. They do not trust me."

"I am aware of this, Malfoy," the Dark Lord hissed. Draco cringed, sensing the annoyance in his Master's voice. "I have taken the necessary precautions. Snape has brewed a stock of Polyjuice Potion for your use. The hairs you are to use come from a Hufflepuff boy who graduated from Hogwarts just last year. He was a useless waste of space with no brains and no personality. No one will notice that he has been replaced."

The Dark Lord floated a large flask of potion down to Draco. It was the colour of parchment: light, unobtrusive off-white, as if it were afraid to offend anyone by picking a more vibrant color.

"Bellatrix will explain to you the details of this excuse for a wizard's life so that you may impersonate him. You are dismissed."

Draco rose from his kneeling position on the cold, stone floor, bowed respectfully once more, and left the chamber.

* * *

A mere hour later, Draco was standing in a shabby apartment above Dervish and Banges.

The moment he apparated inside, he collapsed in relief onto the sofa. He had been so certain that the Dark Lord was going to punish him for his hesitancy. When he had been summoned to a personal audience, he was sure that it was because Unforgivable Curses did not fit in envelopes.

He glanced over the detailed notes that Aunt Bellatrix had given him about Evan Thomas's vital information. It was quite pathetic that everything he needed to know about the boy's life fit on the front and back of one sheet of parchment.

The boy he was to impersonate had graduated from Hogwarts only a year ago, and had taken a job at Dervish and Banges. It was the dullest work that Draco could ever imagine, something about checking inventory and logging transactions. Draco doubted that anyone even noticed if this bloke showed up to work.

Draco never ceased to be amazed at the ingenuity the Dark Lord showed. Evan Thomas was the perfect person for Draco to impersonate. The boy's parents had died of natural causes during the last school year. He was not close with any of his family, and from the lack of mention of any acquaintances on the information sheet, Draco surmised that the Dark Lord had assigned someone to follow this boy and found that he had no close friends.

With a brief, sharp stab of sympathy, Draco thought he understood how alone this boy must have felt. He himself had felt that way in his final year at Hogwarts. People were everywhere but there was no one to confide in, no one to relate to.

Draco shook off the feeling quickly. He had a job to do. He had no idea how to begin looking for the Order of the Phoenix, but he knew that the first thing he had to do was take the potion.

He took a cup from the dusty cupboard in the kitchen of the apartment, poured a small amount of potion into it and drank it in one gulp.

It was easily the blandest thing he had ever tasted.

Whoever this Evan Thomas had been probably had the most boring personality on the face of the planet, Draco mused to himself. Why else would Polyjuice Potion containing this bloke's hair taste indistinguishable from week-old porridge?

Not that Draco had ever tasted week-old porridge. That was something that found its way onto the Weasleys' dinner menu, not the Malfoys'.

Draco let the potion take him, biting his lips to prevent himself from making any noise as the changes wrought his body. He didn't want to attract attention. He gripped the armrest of the sofa tightly as he changed, doubling over as the pain found its way to his stomach but determined not to draw unwanted attention to himself by making a sound.

And just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. He straightened immediately and went to survey his appearance in a dusty mirror on the wall.

He had shrunk a little and was now around average height. He peered curiously at his face. Shaggy brown locks of hair fell into his eyes as he stared at himself in the mirror. The eyes themselves were not his usual hardened grey, but a soft, doleful brown colour.

He looked like the biggest sodding nancy he had ever seen.

Tossing the empty cup carelessly into the sink, the thought it might be time to brave the town, see if he could spot any known Order members and start his mission.

His first stop would be the Three Broomsticks because he still had his most useful ally there.

Rosmerta was not a willing ally, but she had been invaluable to Draco last year. It was most convenient that the busy pub was such a gathering place the for wizarding community. Draco had never removed her from the Imperius Curse.

His plan was brilliantly simple. He applauded himself for being so efficient and so perfectly flawless. He would make Rosmerta Floo him the instant a known member of the Order walked into the pub. Then Draco would conveniently arrive at the Three Broomsticks and convince the Order member to let him join.

Well, perhaps there were some minor details that still needed to be worked out.

He pushed open the door to the busy pub, focusing his power on the curse, preparing Rosmerta for his new commands. Concentrating hard, he did not notice the small figure that was exiting the pub just as he was going in.

She was moving with such velocity that she sent him falling backwards.

And then, to make matters worse, she fell on top of him.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" said an all too familiar voice.

"Get off me," he growled ill-naturedly. He pushed her off of him roughly without looking at her face. He didn't know where he had heard her voice before, but instantly it triggered emotions in him, emotions that closely resembled annoyance and loathing.

"You don't have to be so rude about it," the girl muttered, now sounding annoyed herself.

He turned to her, opening his mouth to point out that in most civilized societies, knocking someone else over was considered a rude gesture.

And then he stopped, his words died his lips.

He stared at her incredulously, unable to believe his luck.

He had been looking for a member of the Order of the Phoenix and he had found one not five minutes since he had started his search. He had run head-first into Hermione Granger.


	2. First Encounters

Friends Close, Enemies Closer

Chapter 2: First Encounters

His first reaction was to say something as rude as possible, preferably with liberal references to her Mudblood heritage and her stupid bushy hair. In fact, he had a rather clever comment about a bird's nest already lined up in his mind.

But his words died on his lips as he noticed something in her expression, or rather, something that was distinctly missing from her expression.

The look of pure loathing that she reserved exclusively for him was completely absent from her face.

"I said I was sorry," she snapped at him indignantly. "You don't have to be a prat about it."

Well, maybe it wasn't a _complete_ absence.

Her voice jilted him back to reality. Of course, there was a reason she wasn't looking at him with her usually hatred: she wasn't looking at him at all, at least, not what he usually thought of as himself. She was looking at Evan Thomas, who was stupid, harmless and innocent, everything that Draco was not.

Quickly, he remembered that he had to try to befriend her and to convince her to let him join the Order. The thought of being nice to Granger churned his insides. Apparently, they churned his outsides too, because she was not looking at him very curiously.

"What's the matter?" she asked, her tone softening considerably. "Did I hurt you?"

"Erm…" Draco said. He began to feel the insistent pressure of panic pushing against his mind. He was not ready. He hadn't planned to run into someone close to the Order so soon, much less someone he already had quite strong feelings of resentment toward. He had not thought out what he was going to say, how he was going to convince her.

Evidently, Hermione thought his lack of an intelligible response meant that he was fine. She was picking herself daintily up off the floor already, brushing the dirt from the front of her robes. Draco had to restrain himself from telling her that dirt was probably an improvement over that shoddy fabric. He thought perhaps this was not the best way to become her friend.

She gave him one last half annoyed, half pitying look, probably because she thought he was rather dim for not being able to answer a simple question. Then, she turned away from him and started to walk off down the High Street.

"Wait!" Draco called desperately. He could not let a chance like this pass him by. He might not find someone else close to the Order for ages. He scrambled quickly to his feet as she turned to stare at him again.

"What?" she asked tersely.

"I'm really sorry for bumping into you." No he wasn't, he wanted to knock her over again, preferably by hitting her very hard in the head with a broomstick.

She paused a little. "It's all right," she allowed grudgingly.

"Er… would you care to have a drink with me?" He could think of nothing else to say.

"I was on my way out," she said. He could tell she wanted to add "obviously".

"What's the rush?"

"I've got… work to get back to." Of course she would be an awful liar. Perfect Granger who would never misbehave or talk back to a teacher.

Feeling more confident now that Granger was off balance, Draco decided to play the pity angle. As much as it pained him to ask for her sympathy, he had seen the vaguely pitying look in her eyes before, and he knew that it was his best shot. Besides, this stupid bloke that he had stolen the appearance of had a permanent "I'm about to cry" expression on his face, perfect for eliciting sympathy from girls.

"Oh…" said Draco, putting in just a little hesitation and loads of disappointment, "well, that's ok then." He made sure to raise the pitch of his voice just slightly, as though he were distressed.

She hesitated for the slightest moment biting her lip.

"It's just that, I don't like drinking alone," he said wistfully. Then, feeling as though he might as well hint at wanting to join the Order, he added sorrowfully, "What with all the horrible things happening to people these days and all."

He knew she was on the brink of accepting his invitation. There was no way she was off to do work. More likely she had been told by the members of the Order to leave headquarters as little as possible, and she wanted to get back before anyone noticed her absence. But she was wavering. She pushed her hair back behind her ear nervously and appeared to be thinking very hard about the proposition. Draco stared intently at her face, taking in every feature, scrutinising it for signs of hesitation. Her eyes shifted quickly as though afraid that she might be discovered, then focused on his. He saw acceptance in them. She opened her mouth to speak. He could taste the victory of his deceit…

"HERMIONE!" bellowed a voice from somewhere further down the street.

Both of them jumped a mile in the air. Hot, furious frustration swept through Draco as he turned to see who had interrupted his brilliantly convincing act.

Ron Weasley was hurrying up the street. His face was an odd mixture of anger and worry. Then, upon spotting Draco standing with Hermione, the worry evaporated immediately.

"What're you doing out here?" Ron demanded, ignoring Draco entirely. Draco rather preferred this, since he had no desire to talk to Weasley. There were only two people in the world he hated more than Granger, and Ron Weasley happened to be one of them.

"Ron!" Hermione said quickly. "I was just on my way back."

"You weren't supposed to leave unless you had to anyway, Hermione," he said. "What're you doing at the Three Broomsticks, having drinks with random blokes?"

"I haven't had a drink with him yet, Ron," she protested.

"'Yet'? What do you mean by 'yet'?"

"Nothing, just that I haven't done anything wrong," she said defensively, "not that it would wrong if I had a drink with him," she added quickly, with an apologetic glance at Draco.

Noticing this, Ron turned to Draco. "Who're you?" Ron asked again.

"My name is Evan," Draco supplied helpfully. Being nice to Granger was one thing, but Draco could not bring himself to be nice to Weasley, who was clearly itching to have a go at him no matter who he looked like.

"Well _Evan_," Ron said. "Why don't we go inside and have us all a drink together? I can't wait to meet you."

"Ron, I was just leaving," Hermione said, now looking rather annoyed herself. "We don't have to bother Evan here. You found me. Let's go."

"No, I want to meet your new friend."

"He's not my new friend Ron, I just ran into him."

"You have deep, involved conversations with people that you randomly run into, eh?"

"I wasn't having a deep, involved conversation! What are you, a seer? You can tell exactly what I'm thinking and doing all the time, Ron?"

"Well, I'm bloody better than you are at Divination! You couldn't see your way through a piece of glass."

"Oh yes, you're _fantastic_ at making up predictions, oops, I mean Divination. 'Today I will drown', 'Tomorrow my head will catch on fire, but that's ok because there's nothing useful to burn in there.'"

Draco never thought he would feel sorry for Harry Potter, but he was coming very close to it right now. Potter dealt with this sort of bickering every day? Draco thought his head might explode if it went on much longer.

"We're being rude to your friend, Hermione," Ron said suddenly. Draco thought it was perhaps because the other boy couldn't come up with a retort. "Let's all just go inside and have a nice chat then."

Hermione glared at him. "Maybe we should, maybe I'll enjoy some fresh company."

Staring daggers at each other, and dragging Draco helplessly along, the three of them entered the pub together.

They picked a table close to the corner, away from the center of attention. Perhaps even in their anger Ron and Hermione understood that they had to keep a low profile. Draco thought this was a rather good thing. This way, they were less likely to have another inane argument.

Each of them ordered a butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta after settling into their table. For a few moments, there was an awkward silence.

"I'm Hermione, and this is my friend Ron," Hermione said, avoiding Ron's glare which was still fixed on her. "It's nice to meet you, Evan."

"I'm pleased to meet you both too," Draco lied through his teeth.

"So, Evan," Ron said, finally deciding that glaring at Hermione wasn't very productive. "Are you from around here?"

"Er…" Draco was unsure of what to say. He hadn't had a chance to memorize the personal details of his disguise carefully yet. "I've lived and worked here since I graduated school last year," he explained, carefully avoiding the issue of his hometown. He doubted it would matter, but he wasn't going to make something up unless forced to.

"Where did you go to school?" asked Hermione.

"Where do you work?" asked Ron, at the same time.

Draco gave a friendly little chuckle, as he supposed this Evan fellow would do in such a situation, and said, "I went to Hogwarts, and I work at Dervish and Banges. What about you two?"

"We're at Hogwarts too," Hermione replied. "I mean, we were."

"What do you mean by were?"

"Well, we won't be going back this year. What with Dumbledore dying and all…"

"Yeah, I heard about that." It took all of Draco's skill and self control to force his face into an appropriately saddened expression. He wasn't sure if he had succeeded, so he added, "Everything has just been so awful since You-Know-Who returned, and now Dumbledore is gone too. What are we going to do?"

Hermione's expression looked sad and uncomfortable at the same time. Even Ron seemed to soften a little. Draco gave himself a mental pat on the back.

"Let's not talk about such horrible things," Hermione said hurriedly.

Draco's imaginary hand stopped mid-pat. Bloody hell.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "What about Quidditch, eh? Who do you reckon is going to win the league this year?"

"The Cannons," Draco replied automatically, not even stopping to think about what Evan's favorite team might have been.

Instantly, Draco berated himself for his mistake. No one ever seriously thought the Cannons were going to win the league. He was not going to earn any favour from Weasley or Granger this way. He knew all too well the dubious look people usually gave him when he told them that he was a Cannons fan, that condescending, disbelieving look.

To Draco's total surprise, Ron's eyes lit up with fierce enthusiasm. His expression brightened and all traces of animosity left his face.

"You're a Cannon's fan?" Ron demanded excitedly. "What d'you reckon about the new Keeper? You think they'll be able to cope without Crawley?"

Astonishment and relief flooded through Draco. Weasley was a Cannons supporter? He had thought it utterly impossible for Weasley to have good taste in anything.

They chatted amiably about the Cannons for a good twenty minutes, about the time they had almost won the league a few years back (or at least, come in second to last, which was really very close), about the new players that had been recruited, and about what veterans would turn in spectacular plays this year.

When the butterbeers came, Hermione took hers first and gave the two boys a patronising glance. "I suppose all boys are the same, never shut up about Quidditch," she said, taking a sip from her bottle.

Ron stopped, mid-description of a particularly astonishing save involving hanging one handed from a broomstick, to glare furiously at Hermione, apparently at a loss for words.

Draco however, turned his attention toward her and said loftily, "There are other things worth talking about, too."

"What else is on your mind then?"

"The things in the news, the followers of the Dark Lord killing people, all these horrible happenings have got me thinking about more serious matters," Draco said carefully. "What can normal people like us do in times like these?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged dubious looks. Draco cursed himself for jumping into the topic so quickly. Of course, no one would sound so eager to help after just talking about a light-hearted subject like Quidditch. It was too sudden. He could have kicked himself under the table.

"I don't suppose there's anything we can do," Ron said, staring uncomfortably at Draco.

"I just meant," Draco amended, trying desperately to make the sudden transition smoother. "It's so strange that life goes on. People still care about everything they normally do, Quidditch and all that, but the murders and the attacks get worse every day."

Hermione was still looking at him strangely. "I reckon that's a pretty deep subject of conversation, Evan. I don't know if I've thought that much about it."

"Yeah, you're right," Draco said, hastily aborting his attempt to nudge them into revealing information.

"Where did you say you were from again?" Ron asked.

"Er…" Draco said, searching for a convincing lie that they would easily forget.

Just at that moment, Madam Rosmerta bustled by their table, bringing a tray of drinks to a group of warlocks seated by the window. Plunging his hand into the pocket containing his wand, Draco gave a quick jerk under the table and a hurried command at Rosmerta.

She stumbled forward and collided with their table. The tray she had been carrying went flying and knocked over Draco's butterbeer, spilling it into his lap.

"Oh blast!" Draco exclaimed, jumping up and adopting a most convincingly surprised expression. He held out his hands, which were dripping in butterbeer and tried to shake them dry.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry," Madam Rosmerta said, whipping out a rag from her pocket and attempting to dry Draco off.

"It's all right," Draco assured her easily. "I've just been a magnet for clumsy moments today."

Ron too had risen from his seat and pulled out his wand, pointing it at the table where the amber liquid was forming a spreading puddle littered with shards of broken glass. Eager to help, Hermione too had whipped out her wand. She pointed it at Draco, probably intent on performing a drying spell.

"No, it's ok, don't bother," Draco said quickly. "It's going to stain anyway. I'd better go home and change."

"_Evanesco_," Ron muttered at the mess on the table. The spill and the shards of glass vanished from the surface. "Bad luck, mate," he said kindly. "It was nice meeting you though."

To Draco's complete surprise, Ron actually sounded totally sincere. Taken aback, Draco paused for a moment before offering, "Likewise. I'll see you around."

He turned to leave. Once outside the pub, he dried his clothes quickly with a muttered spell and crept around to a window to see if Ron and Hermione were still there.

They were helping Madam Rosmerta clear up the remaining broken glass that littered the floor. Perfect, Draco thought to himself. He fed Rosmerta a command to tactfully eavesdrop on their conversation so that he could discover what they were talking about later.

Feeling as though he had gotten further today than he could have hoped, he set off down the High Street rather pleased with himself. He hadn't expected to so much as see anyone from the Order until at least a week into his assignment. Although he was pretty sure that Granger and Weasley hadn't bought his act, he had at least planted himself in their memories. He had a base to build on.

When he arrived in his dingy, cramped apartment, Rosmerta's head was already in the fire, ready to offer him a report. Draco plopped himself onto the sofa and stared at her expectantly.

"When you left, the girl and the boy began to speak about you," Rosmerta began, her eyes glassy and her tone completely monotone. Draco leaned forward, interested.

"The girl said she found you rather strange. She said that she thought it was a bit dodgy for someone to be that insistent about the amount of trouble You-Know-Who is causing."

Draco scowled. Stupid Granger had to question everything.

"The boy just shrugged, and said that he reckoned you were all right. He went on to say that he thought maybe you were just lonely, so you were overly concerned about You-Know-Who's attacks because you could be easily targeted."

Draco's scowl faded and he snorted slightly with laughter. The idea that he, an undercover Death Eater, was scared for his own side to attack him was a bit ludicrous.

"The boy then pointed out that you had 'good taste in Quidditch'," Rosmerta continued.

Draco smiled a bit. Bloody right he had good taste in Quidditch. Cannons were by far the best team in the league, any idiot could see it. He supposed that included Weasley.

"The girl responded by saying that obsession with Quidditch turns perfectly normal brains into rubbish, and the boy argued that her brain was not 'normal' in any way; it was far too big. The girl told him that just because he—"

"That's enough!" Draco cut in. He had already had his share of incessant bickering for today. He did not need to hear any of it repeated by Rosmerta. "Return to running your pub. Alert me immediately if any of the people on this list enter the pub." He duplicated a list of known Order members that he had been given by Aunt Bellatrix and handed it through the fire to Rosmerta.

"You are dismissed," he told her flippantly.

She gave a curt nod and left the flames, leaving Draco completely alone in the apartment.

He heaved a sigh of annoyance. His first attempts to befriend members of the Order had been quick in coming but definitely not completely successful. Weasley and Granger were far from trusting him. He would have to take the time to devise a more subtle, clever strategy to earn their favour. The next time he ran into them, he would be prepared.


	3. Bellatrix and Books

Friends Close, Enemies Closer

Chapter 3: Bellatrix and Books

Draco's initial enthusiasm for preparing his mission quickly dwindled over the next week.

It only took him about two hours of lurking around the store a day to look like he was actually doing his job, so he spent the rest of his time prowling the streets of Hogsmeade in a hooded cloak (it would look highly suspicious if the exact same man were seen around too much) looking for members of the Order. Draco was becoming increasingly frustrated, and even shooting sparks at random children to scare them when their parents weren't looking had begun to lose its appeal.

And he was absolutely sick of practising this stupid smarmy "pity me" act that he had prepared for any Order member he might happen to meet.

Draco had sat in front of his mirror for hours, inventing a tantalisingly dramatic story about witnessing two Death Eaters murder a Muggle without being able to help, practicing the facial expressions that went with it, and adjusting the thick tone of guilt in his voice until it was absolutely perfect.

His eyes would spill over with fake tears; his hand would run distractedly through his hair; and he would adopt a look of desperation as though the event had overwhelmed him.

"And then they came toward the girl, and all I could do was stand rooted to the spot," he narrated to his own reflection. "I would – I tried – but then they pointed their wands at her, and still I didn't do anything."

He gave a convincing hiccupping sob.

"Draco, what the devil are you doing?" called an irritated voice from the fireplace.

Draco whirled around, the pitiful expression disappearing from his face immediately and hardening into his usual sneer. His Aunt Bellatrix's head was floating in the flames.

"Just practising my act to convince Order members that I am sympathetic to their cause," he explained, brushing away the two fat tears that had leaked onto his cheeks.

Bellatrix's thin lips curled into a malicious smile that somehow didn't quite reach her eyes. "My, what convincing tears you have," she sang in an amused voice. Then, as quickly as her good nature had come, it disappeared. "Report on your efforts this week," she snapped.

Draco told her smugly about running into Weasley and Granger earlier, and how he had joined them for a drink.

"I see," she said, apparently somewhat impressed despite herself. "And when are you seeing them again?"

" 'Again'?" he asked meekly.

"Yes, 'again', Draco," she snapped impatiently. "You did manage to secure another meeting, did you not? How else could you possibly hope to have them trust you enough to let you in the Order?"

Draco gulped and tried to think of something to say. He came up empty and instead tried to pretend like he had something caught in his throat to avoid answering. He gave a couple of very fake coughs.

Bellatrix stared at him, completely unimpressed. "Draco, you have gone to school with these children for six years. You can't think of one way that you could contact them without having it look suspicious?"

"Well… Granger reads a lot," Draco offered.

"Oh, very observant, Draco," Bellatrix sneered. "I applaud your astute character evaluation. You'll make an excellent spy for the Dark Lord with those skills. What do I care if the girl reads a lot?"

"You didn't let me finish," Draco shot back, his confidence returning slightly. It was one thing to show deference to the Dark Lord. He did not like to seem weak in front of anyone else. "If she's been shut up in headquarters all day she'll start to get bored. It's a powerfully frustrating feeling, to be trapped in a place you don't want to stay. Surely you, Aunt Bellatrix, understand that. After all, that's how you managed to kill Sirius Black, wasn't it?"

His careful compliment had its desired effect. Bellatrix's thin lips turned upwards slightly at the corners.

"The first thing Granger will itch to do is to research and read. She will want to find books about the Dark Lord's first rise, see if she can spot similarities. All I have to do is to plant myself outside a bookstore, and she'll come to me," he finished with satisfaction, amazed that this thought hadn't occurred to him all week.

His aunt gave a rather pleased smile that somehow made her face uglier. "Good to see that you're actually capable of using your mind, Draco," she said haughtily. "A Malfoy mind is a terrible thing to waste."

Draco gave her a charismatic smile.

"When you see Granger again," she said, "make sure you make plans to meet with her for another time. The Dark Lord has offered to help you earn her trust."

"What sort of help?" Draco asked, genuinely curious. His master had not been so forthcoming with advice or help last year.

"He has been planning an outright attack on a location in Hogsmeade for some time now," Bellatrix explained. "He has foreseen an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

"Once you have secured an appointed time and place to meet the Granger girl, you must report to me immediately. The Dark Lord will send out a small contingent to attack whatever place you are at the appropriate time. You can pretend to fight the Death Eaters and remove the girl to safety. It would be an ideal time to earn her trust."

Draco never ceased to be amazed at the Dark Lord's ingenuity. It was ruthlessly efficient: a show of brute force in the open soon after Dumbledore's death would terrify the wizarding community and it was the perfect ploy for him to gain Granger's trust.

"I—Send him my most humble thanks," he said to his aunt. "I will, of course, follow the plan he has so kindly laid out for me."

"Of course," Bellatrix said. "Until your next report, Draco."

With a small pop she left his fireplace.

* * *

The largest selection of books in Hogsmeade was to be found in the back of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. There was no proper bookstore, but the shelves of books that stood in a separate area in the back were enough to satisfy most wizards' and witches' needs.

Draco perched himself on a comfortable armchair with a clear view of the entrance on the first day after he had spoken to his Aunt. It was only a matter of time before Granger would show up. He was sure of it.

She didn't come on the first day. He resorted to reading "Unfogging the Future" by Cassandra Vablatsky. When he went home that night he thought he saw a soggy, misshapen club in his cup of tea leaves. According to the book, this foretold an attack. How fitting, he mused vaguely to himself.

On the second day his wait became so unbearably dull that he ventured into the stacks of books again. This time he read some absolutely inane book titled "The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle." It was completely useless drivel. He made a mental note to have his father shut down the publisher. Then he remembered that his father was still in prison and tossed the book angrily in the wastepaper bin when no one was looking.

By the third day he had become so ridiculously bored waiting for Granger that he considered going back to his job at Dervish and Banges. He decided that he must be going crazy, and thus instead spent the rest of the day reading books from the "Self Help" section, learning about common magical mental illnesses.

When the fourth day arrived, he could no longer fight the boredom. In resignation, be picked up a giant book entitled "Hogwarts, A History." If Granger did not show up today, or in the next century for that matter, he had this enormous tome to occupy his time.

He read a passage about how Gregory the Smarmy had gotten his nickname with some interest. He could picture that statue standing in the Hogwarts corridor sucking up to the teachers pathetically. It probably wasn't unlike the way Potter to worm his way into the favour of so many teachers, Draco thought bitterly.

"Hi Evan," said a voice suddenly from somewhere above him.

Draco promptly jumped up from his seat in surprise, dropping the book to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Oh, sorry!" the voice apologised. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just came by looking for a book and recognised you sitting there."

For the first time in his life, Draco looked up and was grateful to see Hermione Granger standing in front of him. He mentally berated himself for almost missing her because he was so involved in that ridiculous book. When had he become so interested in reading things?

"No, it's not your fault," he said. "I've just been a bit jumpy lately."

It was a perfect lead-in to his alone and friendless story. He waited for her to offer a sympathetic response and give him an opportunity to elaborate.

"Hogwarts, A History?" she asked, spotting the book that had fallen and changing the subject completely. He glared at her as she bent down to pick up the book, wondering how one person could be so infuriatingly uncooperative.

"What's the matter?" she asked, spotting his expression. Draco quickly forced his frustration out of his mind and off his face.

"Nothing, really," he lied. "I just… um… I get really annoyed when I lose my place."

"I'm exactly the same way!" she said enthusiastically. "And this is one of my favourite books."

"Really?" He wasn't actually surprised that she liked the book. It was just the type of dull rubbish that she was likely to pick up her millions of useless facts from. He was more surprised that he himself had been genuinely engrossed in reading the thing.

"Oh yes," she said earnestly. "I love reading about everything that has happened at Hogwarts. It makes going to school there a million times more interesting. Then, when you're walking past the tapestries you can remember all the funny stories that the book tells you, and you can give a little laugh to yourself that no one else understands."

He found himself actually laughing at her strange comment and her enthusiasm. Almost immediately, he cut himself off, disgusted.

She gave him a now-familiar strange look.

"Erm, are you still in school?" he asked, trying to direct her attention away from her strange behaviour.

"No," she said shortly. Her expression clouded over, and he took this as his cue to press on.

"What about your friend that I met the other day, Ron?"

"No, neither of us are going back this term."

She sounded a bit depressed about this. Draco could only suppose that she missed the homework or something equally strange like that. But there was something more to her tone. Was it anger? Annoyance? Of course, Draco realised, she and Weasley had probably been bickering again, and she couldn't wait to rush out of headquarters to get away from him for a bit. Well, that was convenient. He could use that to his advantage.

"I'm in a bit of a rush," she said quickly. "I haven't really got time to chat." She turned hastily toward the bookshelf and began to browse.

"Wait," Draco protested. "You always seem to be in a rush when I see you."

This comment seemed to make her even more flustered. "Sorry," she said shortly, pulling a massive black book from the shelf in front of her.

"Hermione, you seem like a nice person," he said.

She was barely listening to him anymore. He needed to secure that second meeting quickly, before her attention faded and she ran off back to headquarters again.

"I'd like to see you again, Hermione," he continued. "Maybe sometime when you're not hurrying off to somewhere."

She gave him a suspicious look. Draco compensated by putting on his most pitiful expression. He had spent time honing this in front of the mirror. It was absolutely perfect. He was sure of it. Big pouty eyes, slightly down-turned lips, a slight little sigh. Granger would not be able to resist.

"I live alone you know," he said quietly, convincingly. "And I come here to read because I get scared being by myself. It makes me feel safer here. I haven't been out of school for very long, and I'd really like to make some friends around town."

"I don't know…" she said uncertainly.

"Listen," he said slowly, sensing her apprehension. "I don't want to pressure you into anything. I'm just saying that I might happen to be sitting outside Madam Puddifoot's on Friday afternoon at around 4, enjoying a good book. I may even be sitting at one of those outdoor tables under those frilly umbrellas with two cups of tea. If you happen to wander by on your way to Scrivencraft's or anywhere else for that matter, well, then, perhaps you'll sit down and enjoy the second cup of tea that I would otherwise have no use for."

She stared at him incredulously. "Are you asking me on a date?"

He took in her surprised expression with some amusement. Granger was probably too involved with her books to ever have caught a boy's interest before. Vaguely a few names popped into his mind: Viktor Krum, Cormac McLaggen and Ron Weasley. He shoved them out of his mind impatiently. Ok, so maybe Granger did have love interests. Those stupid blokes clearly had horrible taste in girls.

"Not a date," he said, struggling to force a slight smirk onto his fake. "Just another one of these chance encounters that we seem to be having so often. I've come to rather enjoy them."

She seemed to still waver a bit, but then quite suddenly, her expression hardened in determination. There was something he had never quite seen in her eyes before. He thought it might have been rebelliousness. She gave a little half smile in return. Like taking candy from a baby, Draco thought to himself. Stupid, desperate Granger.

"Maybe I'll see you then," she said.

As he watched her carry her purchases out of the shop, he couldn't help but consider how strange this situation was. He, Draco Malfoy, had just asked Hermione Granger on a date, and she had accepted.


End file.
